Gravity
by TheDimensionOfWords
Summary: Modern AU. Living on the streets is dangerous in itself, but when even more so when you make enemies. When Jim's catches up to him, it is up to Spock to save him. A look at how the trio might come together in a modern setting.
1. Chapter 1

**General Warning: Swearing, drug references, complete and utter butchery of medical understanding.**

**Disclaimer: I do no own this (or any other) franchise, and make no money off of this.**

_*Prologue*_

"Who are you?" Jim asked, seated and leaning against the park tree he was planning on sleeping under. The closest street lamp did nothing but cast the stranger's face is shadows. Jim tried to look nonchalant, but was tensed and ready to grab his few possessions and flee if a threat arose. It was far too late to be getting in a fight, and besides, the seventeen-year-old knew better than to go up against someone stronger than him... at least when he had the disadvantage.

The form shifted in surprise, and moved a bit closer. The face could now be seen of a boy not much older than Jim himself. "Pardon," an emotionless voice intoned. "I was not aware you were there."

Jim's instincts were fired up, but switched from telling him that the stranger was not a threat as first perceived. He grinned up, crossing his arms over his chest as most of the tension left his body. "What are you doing out in the park at this time of night?" The other boy's clothes seemed nice in the dim light, his chin stubbled in a way that could be seen as fashionable, the exact opposite of Jim's used and stained tee and juvenile patches of uncared for facial hair.

"I presume the same reason you are here," the other teen adjusted the bag that was hanging over his shoulder.

Both Jim's eyebrows went up. "No way, you squatting?"

"Quite," a single eyebrow rose in answer. "Do you know of a good location?"

"New to the streets, eh?" Jim asked, nose crinkling, feeling sympathy.

"This is only my third night," the stranger admitted after a pause. "What about you?"

"Oh, been a month for me now," Jim liked this honest human contact, he hadn't had any in ages. Panhandling wasn't a good way to get that, that was something he was sure. "I don't mind if you want to crash on the other side of this tree, if you like? Its pretty late to go wandering around more."

"That would be greatly appreciated," the stranger moved closer, his face closed but in an honest kind of way. Not like he was hiding anything from the world, just as though he didn't know how to express himself. After settling his stuff so that there was a tree between them, the warm spring air plucking at its leaves, the boy came around again and held out his hand. "My name is Spock."

Jim stood up, a little thought in his mind telling him that this was an important moment. "Jim," took the offered hand, smile genuine. "Nice to meet you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Warning: Overdose**

_*Chapter One*_

"I have returned," Spock announced, entering the alleyway that was currently home to himself and his companion and friend, Jim Kirk. They had, by some unspoken agreement, stuck together since the night Spock nearly stepped on Jim in the park. It had become a mutually beneficial partnership, Jim calling most of the shots due to his street smarts, but always relying on Spock for the more scholarly side of genius. Spock managed to get a "crappy" job, but a job nonetheless. Jim had mastered the art of panhandling. Between the two they rarely went hungry and sometimes even got the treat of an air conditioned motel room for a break from the summer heat. They shared everything they had with each other, be it physical possessions or just company.

So Spock was immediately worried when Jim didn't greet him per usual. No matter how dull or horrible Spocks night shift was, he could always (thought he would never admit it) look forward to Jim's beaming face. "Jim?" Spock hurried further into the alley, to the back where their sleeping a bags rested on top of old pallets and particleboard.

His heart stuttered at the sight that welcomed him. Jim's still form lay sprawled on the dirtied and messed bedding, their meager possessions laying destroyed around him, the ones of any value missing. Spock fell to his knees next him, a shaking hand pushing against Jim's neck for a pulse, the other checking at the wrist. Feeling his whole being relax as a light and erratic beat pushed at Spock's fingers; it was better than nothing.

Shaking his friend, Spock tried to get some kind of response. It looked at though Jim had been in a light fight, something that Jim was good at getting into, usually when he was outnumbered and overpowered. But it was more than fight injuries that had Jim in this state, now that he was close, Spock could see that Jim's entire body was clammy and shaking, breath shallow. Realising his efforts to wake Jim were in vain, Spock settled him and lifted his eyelids to check his eyes, the clues putting themselves together.

Jim was overdosed on some fowl narcotic, body unable to handle so much of the concoction. It wasn't the most uncommon thing to see on the streets, some people were on them because of drugs, while others turned to them upon life throwing them here. But Spock knew Jim would never, they were saving up their money for better things. Plus Jim had an aversion to such substances, which Spock believe came from fleeing what he understood to be an abusive home.

So then the only reason Jim would be like this, was if someone forced him or injected him themselves. Picking Jim up, Spock knew he had to get him to the ER. They had to be able to save him from the lethal dosage. He paused to pull a brick out of the wall and gather all their money so that he could pay to get transport.

The other teen was light enough for Spock to carry with ease due to malnutrition, and he quickly made his way to the corner of a street where he might be able to hail a cab. It was hard to get one to stop, and took far longer than Spock hoped. The drive that finally did stop, asked to see the money with a sneer of distrust (and quite possible, disgust). Spock showed the bills he was carrying and quickly got Jim and himself in the back, before the driver could change his mind.

"Nearest hospital please," Spock demanded, looking in the mirror to meet the man's eyes.

"Okay kiddo, but if your friend throws up in here, you are playing double," came the resined answer. Jim ended up vomiting twice, the second time nearly choking in his state of bare consciousness.

On the ride while not tending to Jim, Spock's mind went back to how he ended up like this. It had to have been that guy Jim called Cupcake, and his thugs. Jim had finally hurt the bigger man's so called "honor" one too many times it seems. This meant Jim had to be eliminated, and in a non obvious way so as not to draw the attention of the cops to the newly forming gang's territory. What better way than to shoot Jim up, so he looks like just another "dumb kid" living life too fast.

Leaning Jim against him to hold him up, Spock payed triple due to the second vomit. Counting it out took far too long, and Spock ended up handing all of it, and didn't wait for change. Picking Jim back up, Spock hurried into the busy ER.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Continued From Last**

_*Chapter Two*_

It felt like no one gave them a second glance, mostly out of guilt. They probably couldn't even guess at what they looked like, vomit covered, Jim in his old cloths and Spock in his ratty fast food chain uniform. It was obvious where they called home, and that they had no chance in hell of paying for treatment. And in the same stroke of luck that landed them where they were, it seemed the closest hospital had been an expensive one.

So here they were, two homeless teens and one overdosed to look as though he did the deed himself. Why would anyone help them, despite Spock's pleas for assistance, watching his only friend fade away in his arms.

...(o)...

Doctor Leonard McCoy was having the worst night of his life, and watching some kid die who could be saved, within the doors of a damned hospital would just be the last fucking straw. He was off shift, in all honestly he could go home and the kid could die, and it would have nothing to do with it. Hell, the poor bastard put himself over the edge!

But he couldn't just leave. Maybe it was the kid's young age. Maybe it was his friend who was choking back tears and trying so hard to get attention for him. Maybe it was how close McCoy himself had come to that edge himself, after the divorce and losing everything but his job. Maybe it was because he was a useless bastard himself, and if he could save this kid maybe he wouldn't feel quite so empty himself.

"Hey kid, my car is in the garage on the second floor, lot 45B," McCoy bent and murmured into ear of the distraught teen where he had come to sit, holding his friend possessively against him. McCoy went on to press his keys into a clenched fist. "I need to sneak back and get the stuff to save your friend. Meet me there, I'll take you home and see what I can do."

The boy looked back with wide, tear rimmed brown eyes in disbelief, looking from the keys to McCoy's own eyes. The internal struggle to trust this offer didn't take long, and he whispered a broken, "Thank you." before scooping up his dying companion with shaky arms.

McCoy now turned to commit an act that could ruin his career if he was caught. Putting on a fake smile, making it as innocent and sheepish as possible, he slipped back into the main part of the hospital, saying something about forgetting his coat to anyone who cared enough to ask him why he was still around after shift.

It was only after he gathered his needed supplies, bundling them in the coat he did in fact leave in his locker, that he started having near crippling misgivings. Why was he doing this? He was stealing medical supplies from the hospital for some stranger. He had given his keys to some random homeless kid! He would probably come out to find his car gone as a reward for his kindness, for fuck sake!

But he came to his parking spot to find the car there, engine running. The conscious teen was in the back, his friend's head in his lap, looking desperate but now slightly hopeful. His face lit up for a second as McCoy slipped in the front and put the car in movement, before he controlled himself.

Once they were on the main road, McCoy asked, "What's your name son?"

"Spock," came the simple answer. "This is Jim." McCoy noticed that Spock kept two fingers pressed to Jim's neck at all times, making sure a pulse was still there.

"Nice to meet you Spock," McCoy flashed a smile in the mirror, wanting to let the kid know that it was going to be alright. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Spock blinked, seeming to think over his answer thoroughly before giving it. "I do not know the exact details, as I was away working at the time. But it seems a gang member with whom Jim has...outsmarted on more than one occasion came to collect for his humiliation. He seems to have struggled with Jim before injecting him with the overdose of some distasteful substance."

McCoy raised his eyebrows in disbelief. At a stoplight, the morning sun creeping up the horizon, he looked in the mirror to meet Spock's eyes. His face was honest, it was evident that he believed every word of his unlikely story.

McCoy sighed, and focused back on the road. "If you say so, kid. In any matter, lets get home so I can help your friend." It seemed Spock wanted to say something else, opening his mouth only to close it and hang his head to focus on Jim. McCoy guessed at what he was going to say and answered with all the confidence he could, "Don't worry, he is going to be alright." _God willing._ But he didn't say that out loud. Better to give hope, even if it tends to be empty.


	4. Chapter 4

_*Chapter Three*_

The man, the ID hanging from his lanyard read his name as Dr. McCoy, Leonard, offered to help Spock carry Jim into the apartment building. Spock declined, stating that McCoy should focus on getting the supplies in unharmed. Taking Jim in his arms one more time, a final rush of adrenaline surging through his tired arms to carry the limp body to the elevator and then into the apartment of the hopefully adept doctor.

If Spock had been in any state to notice such things, he would have taken in the shabby apartment building in a far from prosperous neighborhood, and the tiny apartment to which he was lead. This young doctor was living far from the lap of luxury.

"Best to put him on the bed," McCoy gestured into the only other room in the apartment. The bedroom had the feeling of lack of use, the bed looking like it hadn't been slept in for weeks. Spock gently lay Jim down and moved out of the way as the doctor went right to work. After a few minutes, McCoy snapped out, "Go grab a chair from the kitchen table, your hovering it distracting."

Spock complied quickly, not liking to have Jim out of sight now that they had gotten so far. It was not a pleasant process to watch, and the doctor sometimes called him to help. But it was finally done, and Jim shifted, before seeming to fall into a more natural sleep.

McCoy smiled tiredly, and went about cleaning up. "He's a strong one, others would have given in before I could help them. Not your friend here though, he fought. And before you ask, he's going to be perfectly fine." He adjusted the IV that was gently dripping on its makeshift hook on the wall.

Spock nodded, all the actions of the day catching up with him and causing his shoulders to visibly sag in relief and fatigue. He looked up and said, "I don't know how I can thank you."

"Don' need to kid, I am a doctor, it's my job." But his weary smile was one of pride. "Why don't you get some rest, you can stay here until he is feeling better, which should take at the very least three days."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" These types of offers so rarely come around for anyone in his and Jim's position.

"Yeah, don't see how it can do any harm to me. Now rest, doctor's orders!"

Spock nodded, and tried to do as he was told, but ended up just watching the rise and fall of Jim's chest, making sure it didn't stop. McCoy moved about, checking on Jim every once in awhile and going about his no doubt normal routines after work. Without even meaning to, Spock drifted off to the sounds of life, while watching the soothing process of another breathing.

...(o)...

Jim could count on one hand the amount of times it hurt this much just to wake up. Which was saying something, as he had lived a far from glamorous and pain free life. This pain and general feeling of utter shittiness might just take the cake though.

He manages to push through the grogginess of his own mind, and opened his eyes to a room that is too bright. The room part was weird enough on its own, but the bed he was on had him scrambling to sit up. Where the fuck was he?

"Easy kid, I wouldn't recommend that," came a strange voice, its general kindness coupled with light Southern accent making Jim almost relax. He looked around quickly, and immediately regretted it as an uncontrollable wave of nausea rolled over him. Something was pressed into his hands, so he promptly threw up in it. Taking deep breaths for a moment, what he now identified as a pan was taken away and a cup of water pressed into his hands in it's place.

"Drink that slowly, no need for you to hurl again." Jim did as he was told, though his parched mouth begged him to gulp down the whole glass. Looking up, Jim met a pair of kind brown eyes that had far too much emotion swimming close to the surface to be Spock's.

"Spock?" he croaked, instead of the greeting his brain was initially going for, needing to know where his friend was.

"Right next to you, son," the stranger pointed to where Spock sat in an uncomfortable looking chair, front half of his body sprawled acrossing the bed Jim found himself in. Jim smiled at Spock's sleeping appearance, ruffled and not eluding his usual contained vibe.

"He just went to sleep, so even though he will be pissed to miss you waking up, I'm letting him rest." Jim looked back to the other man, who was smiling slightly, a days worth of stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes like he hadn't really slept in a long, long time.

"Spock doesn't really do "pissed", but I catch your meaning," Jim smiles back up at the man, ignoring the fact that he entire body felt like it just wanted to melt into painful nothing. "Can I ask who you are? And what is going on? Also, possibly, where I am?"

"You overdosed, or got injected an overdose," stanger began.

Jim winced, nose crinkling in disgust. "God damn, it must have been Cupcake!"

"...Pardon?"

"Some asshole trying to start a gang," Jim explained quickly, more interested in his current situation. "Sorry for the interruption, continue?"

The stranger looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, your friend here must have found you and brought you all the way to the hospital where I work. They were their usually bastard selves though, and denied you treatment because you obviously couldn't pay. So I offered help to your friend and he took it. So here you are, alive, and in the crappy apartment of one junior doctor, myself."

"Well then, I guess a thank you is in order!" Jim held out a hand and put on his most charming smile, the doctor took it gently. "It seems you have saved my life, and I don't even know your name."

"Leonard McCoy, and it was nothing," the man had a kindly, if immaturely aged face. "If I didn't save you, then I would be about as useful as a human without bones."

"Leonard...hmm, I don't know if it quite suits you..." Jim mumbled, taking his hand back and placing it under his own chin in playful thoughtfulness. McCoy snorted in surprised humor at this teen who only hours before was close to dying. "I'm going to call you Bones."

"Bones? Really kid? Because of what I just said?"

"Why not?" Jim widened his blue eyes, pulling his classic puppy-dog look. "I like it!"

McCoy rolled his eyes, and mumbled in faked grumpiness, "Fine, call me whatever you want. But you really should get some more rest now, what you've been through isn't something you can just walk away from the next day."

"Okay Bones!"

"Don't you get all cheeky on me," came a warning that really wasn't much of a warning due to how non threatening his voice was. Jim schooled his face into innocence, relaxing back into the pillows. "Now right to sleep, doctor's orders!" Before he turned and left the room, he drew the curtains shut all the way, and turned off the overhead light. Looking back, he caught Jim peeking at him with one eye, and scowled, Jim chuckling and quickly pretending to sleep. Rolling his eyes again McCoy left the room, hoping to lull himself to sleep by watching crap daytime television, though it wasn't something he had much hope in.

...(o)...

Spock had been woken nearly as soon as he heard Jim's voice, but gave no outward indication he was awake. He listened to the two talk, his trust in the doctor growing as Jim quickly expressed his like for the man through his mannerisms. When McCoy instructed Jim to sleep, and prepared the lighting in the room to prompt that, Spock once again let rest over take him, knowing that Jim was alright and that the two of them were in good hands with the helpful doctor.


End file.
